


Homestuck!  The Musical

by mitspeiler



Category: Homestuck, Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - High School, Comedy, Crossover, Fuckin, Funny, Fusion, Hilarious, Multi, Nonsense, Not, Pretentious, Ridiculous, School, School Play, Singing, another - Freeform, high, laugh dammit, not really - Freeform, stupid, the musical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:44:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitspeiler/pseuds/mitspeiler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave Strider and John Egbert try to class up their high school by putting on a production of Les Miserables.  Watch as they struggle to cast the thing, build sets, and nearly get shut down for not being politically correct enough.  Can they sell a three hour opera about about war, crime and prostitution dealing with themes of rebellion against authority, the injustice of life, and religion to a modern American high school and their parents?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Les Mis, Though

            Dave Strider sat in the chair opposite the principal’s.  For the first time in his high school career, he had come in voluntarily.  Which is not to say he wasn’t in trouble; he had barged his way in and plopped down on the chair, assuming a relaxed and proprietary posture, fingers tented in front of his stoic face, as if he were the authority figure, and the principal the intruder.  That was ten minutes ago.  Finally, he spoke, sunglasses betraying no emotion.  “ _Les Miserables_ , though.”

            Dave Strider wanted to put on a school play.  And not just any school play, but an interpretation of the biggest musical ever written.  The drama club had been dissolved years ago due to lack of interest, and he would need to cast dozens of characters, build Olympian sets, put in a heroic amount of hours of rehearsal, and somehow sell the idea of a three hour opera about war, crime and prostitution dealing with themes of rebellion against authority, the injustice of life, and religion to a modern American high school and their parents.  “What’s your point?” he asked.  “You make it sound all hard.  I can pull it off.” 

            Somehow, Dave Strider got his funding, and the principal went home that day feeling as if he had been defrauded.

 

            “What’s this?” asked John, squinting at the flyer. 

            Dave adjusted his sunglasses.  “It’s a three hour opera about war, crime and prostitution dealing with themes of rebellion against authority, the injustice of life, and religion.”

            John grinned.  “It sounds badass!  Can I be in it?”

            “Can you sing?”  John sang a few lines of Old MacDonald until Dave had heard quite enough.  “Yeah it seems you’re destined to just hand out flyers for me bro, sorry.”

            John snapped his fingers and feigned disappointment.  “Oh well, this is still going to be fun though, right?”

            “Sure,” said Dave in a lazy drawl.  “You can be my personal assistant.  Keep all these chumps in line.  Actors are basically animals, Egbert.”

            John chuckled.  “How many chumps have we got so far?”

            Dave counted briefly in his head.  “The two of us,” he finished.

            “Swag,” said John.

           

            “Now Rose, before you say no, just take a look at this sketch,” Kanaya held up her sketchbook, opening it up to a page depicting an extravagant gothic-Lolita dress, layers of purple and black lace intricately embroidered with floral patterns, tasteful integration of bows and ribbons, topped with a nice turn of the century hat.

            “It’s lovely,” said Rose after a moment of study, “but where would you expect me to wear it?  Real people don’t dress like this, Kanaya.  I asked for something simple and elegant for the dance.  Also this shows off entirely too much leg—”

            Her insufferable prick of a brother and his henchman John Egbert burst into the room.  “What do you two want now?” she snapped.

            “Shut up, we’re here for your girlfriend,” said Dave, just as John waved enthusiastically and said, “hey Rose!”  Dave strode up to Kanaya and snatched the sketchbook out of her hands, leafing through it in a few seconds before she even had time to demand it back.  “You want a job, Maryam?”

            “What are you talking about?”  Kanaya growled.

            Ignoring her, he said, “Because the dress on page fourteen would look absolutely beautiful on a 19th century French orphan.”

 

            The statuesque football player loomed large in the doorframe to the empty art-room.  “Don’t touch Nepeta,” he warned.  “Don’t look her in the eye.  Remove any and all artifacts colored purple before entering.  Give her your pens as soon as you enter to avoid her taking them by force.  And lastly—”

            “DAVE!” A little ball of green tumbled past Equius and tackled the Dave to the ground.  “I heard you were purring a on a play!” said Nepeta, shaking the prone cool-kid.  “I want to do the sets!  Can I do the sets!?  That would be the cat’s meow!”

            “That wasn’t even a pun,” John interrupted.

            The petit girl looked up and hissed at him.  “Nobody cares John!”  He bowed his head.  “So can I?”  Dave nodded his head.  “Yessss!”  She leapt to her feet and grabbed Equius’s hand; it all but disappeared into his enormous palm.  “C’mon, I need you to lift some things…”

           

            Dave was seated on a raised platform in the auditorium, holding a megaphone.  John was seated next to him, and had affected a red beret in honor of Cecil B. DeMille.  Dave scoffed at such amateurish directorial wear and had gone for an eye-patch _and_ a monocle, a combo that only director Fritz Lang had ever been badass enough to wear.  His red eye glinted menacingly through the glass at the auditioneers.

            “And IIIIIIIIIIIII wwill alwways love youuuuuuuuuu—”

            “Stop,” Dave spoke into the megaphone and his voice resounded through the entire building.  “What the fuck are you doing here Ampora?  Your accent is too thick and you stutter.  You should have known how this would end.  Get out.” 

            Eridan glared.  “Nevver havve I been so insulted in my life, Strider!”

            “I’m glad you achieved something today,” said Dave.

            “Hey,” said John, “He wasn’t that bad, maybe he could play someone else?”

            Dave motioned for him to continue.  “Well,” John turned to Eridan.  “You have a really young, underdeveloped sounding voice.  If you worked on your stutter, maybe you could be Gavroche?”

            Dave blinked.  “You mean the ki—”

            “Kind, streetwise hero who martyrs himself for the cause,” said John smartly.

            Eridan swished his big, purple coat in what he assumed was a heroic manner and struck a thoughtful pose.  “I think I could definitely do that!  See Strider, a _good_ director is supposed to wwork _wwith_ his actors’ strengths and find out what wworks best for them, not just ham-fistedly force them into wwhat he wwants and discard them wwhen they don’t fit.”

            Dave scratched his chin.  “Maybe.  Wwork on that stutter.  Shit, you got me doing it.”  He pointed at the exit.  “Get the fuck out.  Don’t come to us, we’ll call you.”

            Eridan swirled his coat as he left.  John and Dave laughed as the door slammed shut.  “Next person.”

            Terezi Pyrope came onstage and offered a deep bow.  Assuming a low, haughty tone, she spoke.  “I am here to audition for the role of Inspector Javert.”

            “You’re a girl,” said Dave.  “Next person.”

            “You didn’t even let me sing!”  Terezi shouted, stomping on the ground.

            “You’re a girl,” Dave repeated.  “Next person.”

            “Well,” said John helpfully, “you kind of _are_ a girl.  And the character’s a boy.  It just can’t be done.”

            Terezi growled.  “I’m going to cut your fucking throat, Egbert!”

            John threw up his hands.  “Why just me!?”  Terezi ignored him and stormed off the stage, flipping the bird as she went.

            Without waiting to be called, Vriska Serket sauntered onto the stage.  “I wanna be the female lead,” she said, examining her nails.

            Dave slapped his forehead.  “I’m not even gonna ask if you can sing, just get off my stage.”

            “Oh c’mon Dave,” said John, “You should just give her a chance!  You gave Eridan a chance, and you hate him!”

            Vriska tossed her unruly mane of red hair.  “If Eridan gets into this play and I don’t, there will be _Hell_ to pay Strider!”

            “I only let him try out to be funny,” Dave pointed out.  “And I was right to, it was hilarious.  You are just gonna cause us all pain, I bet.”

            “You pretentious hipster motherfucker,” she snapped, “I am a great singer!  I have won _awards_.  You are just some sunglassed douche who intimidated our rat of principal into letting you do what you wanted.  I’m going to sing now, and then you’re going to beg me to play Cosette!”  She struck a choral pose.  “And I shall consider it.”  Vriska cleared her throat and released a single angelic note—

            And then stopped.  “This is a duet!  I need someone who knows ‘A Heart Full of Love’.”

            Dave swore under his breath and almost called for the next auditioneer, consequences be damned.  John raised his hand hesitantly, blushing slightly.  “I’m pretty bad though,” he warned.

            Vriska grinned dangerously.  “I’m good enough for both of us.”

            John cleared his throat.

 

JOHN

A heart full of love!  
A heart full of song—  
I'm doing everything all wrong!  
Oh God, for shame,  
I do not even know your name!  
Dear Mad'moiselle,  
Won't you say?  
Will you tell?

 

            Vriska giggled a little.  “You’re not that bad.”

  
VRISKA  
A heart full of love,  
No fear, no regret.

  
JOHN  
My name is Marius Pontmercy.  
  
VRISKA  
And mine's Cosette.  
  
JOHN  
Cosette…I don't know what to say.  
  
VRISKA  
Then make no sound.  
  
JOHN  
I am lost.  
  
VRISKA  
I am found!  
  
JOHN  
A heart full of light…  
  
VRISKA & JOHN  
A night bright as day!  
  
JOHN  
And you must never go away!  
Cosette…Vriska  
  
VRISKA  
‘Tis a chain we'll never break!  
  
JOHN  
Do I dream?  
  
VRISKA  
I'm awake!  
  
JOHN  
A heart full of love!  
  
VRISKA & JOHN  
A heart full of you!  
  
JOHN  
A single look and then I knew!  
  
VRISKA  
I knew it too….  
  
JOHN  
From today—  
  
VRISKA  
Every day—  
  
VRISKA & JOHN  
For it isn't a dream,  
Not a dream after all….

 

            Dave scratched his head for a moment.  “Egbert what the fuck was that?”

            John chuckled under his breath, coloring slightly.  “What do you mean?  I wasn’t that bad was I?”

            Dave grabbed him by the lapels.  “How you gonna play me like that?  Pulling that weak-sauce Old MacDonald shit earlier when you can apparently sing like a fucking angel?” Dave shook him a little to get the point across.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He turned back to the stage, where Vriska was tapping her foot impatiently.  “I guess…she just brought something out of me—”

            “That is the lamest fucking shit I have ever heard Egbert and I am casting you as Marius right now!”  He jumped to his feet and pointed at Vriska.  “You’re Cosette.  He’s your guy.  Fucking do what you have to do with him to get a good performance out.”  She pumped her fist in the air and strode off the stage in victory.  John watched her go dumbly.

            “GOD.  DAMMIT JOHN!”  Karkat Vantas kicked open the double doors to the auditorium, covered in leis and feather boas.  “LISTEN EGBERT, YOU ARE NO LONGER A CHILD.  I KNOW YOU MEAN IT WELL, BUT YOUR PRANKS ALL FUCKING SUCK!”  He tore off the leis, throwing the fake flowers to the ground and stomping them into oblivion.  “AND I AM NOT A ‘LONELY SOUL’.  I DON’T CARE TO DATE AT ALL, SO DON’T TRY TO HOOK ME UP WITH YOUR GAY FRIENDS, I AM NOT A HOMOSEXUAL!”

            Karkat continued his rant for a several minutes, John simply watching in amused fascination.  Karkat didn’t seem to get that people only messed with him because his anger was top-notch entertainment.  It wasn’t even quite bullying, because there was just something special about the way he exploded at people that just brightened their day.  A thought occurred to Dave.  He produced a tuning fork and struck it.  Karkat was the most perfect tenor he had ever heard.  “Good job,” he said, clapping slowly.  “You are now my Enjolras.”

            John burst out laughing.  “Karkat as a revolutionary messianic figure driven by a burning passion?  It’s so unbelievable!”

            “HEY ASSHOLE, I CAN DO THAT SHIT IN MY SLEEP,” he said, shaking John by the lapels.

            “Ow!  Why is everyone doing that today!?”

            “I DIDN’T EVEN CARE ABOUT YOUR DUMBASS PLAY, STRIDER,” Karkat continued, ignoring John, “BUT I’M IN, JUST TO PROVE THIS DUMB-FUCK WRONG.”

 

            At the end of the day, Dave and John still needed a Javert, Fantine, Valjean, both Thénardiers, and several others, all of whom were absolutely essential to the production.  They only had tomorrow for further auditions.  “Well, it was fun while it lasted,” said John, dusting off his hands.  “Maybe we can switch to a smaller musical?”  He snapped his fingers.  “The _Little Mermaid_!  I know a girl who would be perfect for Ariel—”

            Dave shushed him.  “Do you hear that?”

            Someone was singing.  “The habanera!” John said, just as Dave said, “L'amour est un oiseau rebelle.”

            John narrowed his eyes.  “You fucking hipster, using the French name.”

            “Hush up Egbert,” Dave said, adjusting his monocle.  “Come with me.”

           

???

L'amour est l'enfant de Bohême,  
Il n'a jamais, jamais connu de loi;  
Si tu ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime;  
Si je t'aime, prends garde à toi! (Prends garde à toi!)  
Si tu ne m'aimes pas,  
Si tu ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime (Prends garde à toi!)  
Mais si je t'aime, si je t'aime  
Prends garde à toi!

 

            “It’s coming from backstage!” John whispered.  Dave nodded and crept up onto the stage silently as a cat.  John took off his shoes, not trusting his stealth, and followed.  The voice was low and sultry, seductive as the song itself required, and had a wonderful way with Rs that made the spine tingle.

 

???

L'amour est l'enfant de Bohême,  
Il n'a jamais, jamais connu de loi;  
Si tu ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime;  
Si je t'aime, prends garde à toi! Prends garde à toi!

 

            “No fucking way,” Dave muttered.  Kanaya sat on the floor, stitching away at a period-accurate frock, adding little hints and touches of patterns.  As she worked, eyes half-lidded, she sang.

 

KANAYA

Si tu ne m'aimes pas,  
Si tu ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime (Prends garde à toi!)  
Mais si je t'aime, si je t'aime  
Prends garde à toi !

 

            The finale was grand and resounding, filling the room with her clear, crystalline alto.  John clapped loudly and whistled.  “Encore!”

            Kanaya finally saw the boys and blanched deathly white.  “I’m so sorry, I’ll leave now,” she stood up to run away, but Dave flash-stepped in her way.

            “You didn’t tell us you could sing,” Dave said.

            “Oh, barely just,” she reassured, looking around for some other exit.

            Dave shook his head.  “No.  Egbert can ‘barely just’ sing and I gave him a part just like that,” he snapped his fingers.  “You could have your pick of any part in the show.  Shit, I’d make you Javert if you wanted.”  Somewhere in the world, Terezi felt burning rage well up inside of her.

            “Do you…do you really think?”

            “Kanaya, that was amazing,” John said.  “I didn’t even know what you were saying but I absolutely _got_ what the song was about!  You have great talent!  Your voice can convey emotion like nothing else!  I totally wanted to have sex with you!”  John covered his mouth.  Kanaya reddened.

            “Ignore Egbert, he’s retarded,” Dave sighed.  “He’s right though.  You have, like, superpowers or some shit.  Everything he said was true.  You can fucking destroy people with your voice.  We need to use that shit for evil.”  Dave got down on one knee.  “Kanaya, will you be our Fantine, and sing the saddest song ever written?”

            She looked incredibly overwhelmed.  With this onslaught of praise and desperation, what else could she do?  Trembling, she took Dave’s hand in hers, and gripped as firmly as she was able.  “I’ll do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this will only take three chapters. It took like two hours to write so it won’t take away from my other fics very much. Just some shit I cranked out that will probably amuse only me. It seems people like the idea of fusing Homestuck with Les Mis for some reason. I toyed with the idea, but decided it would just be quoting the songs with some names changed, and songs don’t work well on paper at all. And yet this chapter had three….  
> Regardless, instead of writing some three hundred chapter epic that would leave emotionally drained, I thought this would be a fun little exercise where I would more…plan out a fusion than actually do one. And this way the characters aren’t locked into their roles and can still act like themselves when they need to. I suppose one reason I thought to do this though, is because I was absolutely tickled to hear that plenty of high schools do actually put on this play. HOW? HOW DO YOU GET HIGH SCHOOL AGED CHILDREN TO CREATE THIS? HOW DO YOU GET THEIR PARENTS TO NOT EXPLODE AT THE MERE THOUGHT OF HALF THE THINGS THEY’LL HAVE TO DO ONSTAGE? IN AMERICA?  
> John would not be Valjean! Just because their names are similar…And Jack could never Javert! Jack is a fucking cancer and Javert is an idealistic lawkeeper. Redglare could be Javert though, and John could be Marius. How has no one seen this!?  
> Next chapter, we round out the cast, and a problem arises.


	2. Rainbow Rumpus Hostage Situation Audition Party Factory

            The sign read “Rainbow Rumpus Party Factory,” and was decorated with loads of shitty fruit clip-art.  At the bottom, someone had scrawled “Free Sloppy Makeouts” in a faded blue marker.  Just above it, nearly illegible, was a scrawl of poorly written letters and misspellings in red, which roughly translated into “everyone welcome”, accompanied by a few doodles of the most hideous men that have ever been doodled.

            When the auditorium had filled as close to capacity as they were likely to get, John barricaded the door.  A spotlight activated and illuminated Dave on the stage, still in his Fritz Lang gear.  In one hand he held a megaphone, and in the other hand a riding crop.  “Nobody leaves this auditorium until we have a bishop, a Valjean, an Eponine, a Javert, a Mr. and Mrs. Thénardier…” and he then proceeded to name every character that had yet to be cast.  People began to panic and rush for the door.

            Equius stepped out of the shadows and stood in front of it menacingly, revealing a broken-toothed grin.  “The director has spoken.”

            “HEY.  STRIDER.  FUCK YOU.”  The voice wasn’t really shouting but seemed to simply be voluminous.  Dave scanned the crowd and saw the gaunt figure of Caliborn.  Ah, no one else spoke in all caps like that.

            “You think I don’t hear that every hour of every day?” Dave asked.  “It’s the price of being this cool.”  He was about to have Equius show him the door because he didn’t need someone heckling him throughout the whole audition/hostage situation, but thought better of it.  Caliborn was a lowlife degenerate thug without a sense of common decency and the devil’s own luck, because he sure as Hell wasn’t getting by on his intelligence.  He’d be a perfect Thénardier.  “Hey Cal you’re in the show now.”

            “WHAT THE FUCK MAKES YOU THINK I WANT TO BE IN YOUR STUPID SHOW?”

            “Because you’ll basically be playing yourself.  People will cheer you for just being who you are.”  That stunned him into silence.  Dave moved in for the kill.  “And I’ll get you a hot wife.”

            Caliborn’s face was overcome by a sort of dull joy.  “WHERE’S MY FUCKING SCRIPT?”

            “Yo motherfucker,” Gamzee the stoner’s spindly frame made itself known from the back of the auditorium, voice carrying all the way to the stage somehow.  “I was gonna show up yesterday but I up and motherfuckin’ got all distracted lookin’ at all the little miracles in the fuckin’ world.  Stopped to look at a pair of dragonflies makin’ sweet love and next thing I know it, it’s nighttime and security is all evicting me from the grounds and shit.  Can I be the bishop?  I Hell’sa want to be the bishop.  It’s one of my motherfuckin’ dreams.”

            Dave squinted.  “Really?”

            Gamzee nodded lazily, and continued doing so for about a minute until Dave was certain he’d forgotten why he was nodding in the first place.  And suddenly, he started singing.  His voice was a profound, rumbling baritone, and carried hints of paternal affection.

 

GAMZEE

But remember this, my brother,

See in this some higher plan,

You must use this precious silver

To become an honest man.

By the witness of the martyrs!

By the passion and the blood!

God has raised you out of darkness;

I have bought your soul for God!

 

            “Well I guess everybody’s just full of surprises this week, huh?” John said.  Dave nodded.  “Go hand out some scripts,” he said.  “We still need all kinds of people, but we’re getting there.”

            “Dude,” said John, suddenly realizing something, “we don’t just need actors, we need stage hands and things like that!”

            “Well Equius is doing the heavy lifting,” Dave said.  “And as for techs, I have top men on it.”

            John raised an eyebrow.  “Who?”

            Dave turned his menacing red eye on him.  “Top.  Men.”

 

            “Jesus fucking Christ,” Sollux muttered, hammering on his keyboard.  “This equipment is fucking stone age.  My shitty-ass laptop isn’t even compatible with half this shit.  No wonder the fucking drama club all quit, I’m surprised they didn’t commit mass ritual suicide, working with these antiques.  I could get better lighting effects just scraping two fucking rocks together.”  He turned around and shouted for his brother.  “How’s the fucking star machine going?”

            Mituna brushed his wooly bangs out of his face, only for them to bounce back into place.  He was building a new machine from scratch.  It would project photorealistic stars to every corner of the auditorium, which would them turn into a meteor shower at a certain musical cue.  It was hourglass-shaped and nearly as big as he was, and would be used for a one-off effect that would be seen for all of two minutes, and he’d spent all day and night on it.  He growled.  “I’m almost done, just shut up for two seconds!”  Compared to his brother’s slight lisp, Mituna’s voice was damn near indecipherable except to those who knew him well. 

            The panel he’d been tightening fell open and he screamed in rage, hefting the wrench and swinging it wildly, taking care not to actually hit the thing.  He dropped the wrench and stood up, trembling.  “I can’t right now!  Give me a couple minutes, then I’ll get back to it.  I just need to cool off.”  He stood up and sulked over to the other end of the catwalk.  Sollux scoffed and went back to trying to reverse-engineer the entertainment system.

            The two of them were high above the ground, in a little techie-nest of catwalks.  From here they could man the lights and control the sound output, and thanks to their hard work, a great deal of other things besides.  If Hollywood had still cared about practical effects, they could have made a fortune.  Mituna stumbled on a stray broom that had lain there undisturbed since the sixties and nearly fell to his death.

            He roared and picked up the broom, flailing it around wildly. “Shit fuck shit fuck ass piss crap!”  He hurled the broom like a lance.  “LEVITICUS!”  It slammed right into the open panel on the star machine, unleashing a spray of sparks.  And then the machine rolled off the catwalk and hit the floor two stories below with a resounding crash.

            “Goddammit Mituna!”  Sollux shouted, slamming his laptop shut.  “You finally went and killed someone, didn’t you!?”

            Mituna blew a loud raspberry, sending flecks of spittle flying all over the place.  “It fell backstage!  No one was back there anyway!”

            Just then a shrill voice cried out.  “Help!  I’m being crushed!”

 

            Nepeta was laying on the floor backstage, sketching out an enormous backdrop in yellow color pencil.  She had never been to Paris or even seen pictures of it, so she was using her imagination.  ‘The city of lights’ eh?  ‘The city of love’?  She imagined a massive golden city full of tight, cozy avenues, soaring bridges, all manner of nooks and alcoves where a pair of lovers could easily slip away if they were so inclined, and looming above it all, the tower—

 

            Dave and John looked at each other.  “Fuck!” they both said, simultaneously, and rushed backstage.  In their hurry, they left the back curtains open, revealing the scene to the auditorium at large.  Nepeta Leijon was pinned beneath some kind of machine.  She had been lying on the floor sketching.  That, combined with her tiny frame, had saved her life; she was just small enough to fit in the narrowest part of the machine; only her baggy coat was caught under it.  “It’s a fuckin’ miracle,” said Gamzee, suddenly there.  “Shut up and help us get it off!” John shouted.  They could just easily roll it—

            The wooden floor gave way just slightly under one side of the machine, and Nepeta screamed.  She was now actually being crushed.  Very slowly but inexorably, the device was sinking through the floor and would press the life out of her.  There was a rush of air as of some massive object flying at high speeds and the three boys bounced as something landed behind them.  “Stand aside,” Equius said, sounding dangerous.  Without waiting, he shoved the three out of the way with one hand.

            He strode up to the star machine and put his hands beneath it.  With slowness that spoke more of care than weight, he lifted it over his head.  At that exact moment, it activated, filling the auditorium with light.  The stars glinted off Dave’s monocle as an idea began forming in his head.

            Equius threw the machine off the stage and it shattered into pieces on the ground.  A muffled ‘no!’ from up on high filled the air.  Muffled, that is, by the resounding cheers from the gathered crowd.  Happily, and entirely unhurt, Nepeta clambered up onto his shoulders and waved at the people, who cheered all the louder.

            Silently, Terezi slinked in out of the shadows, holding her dragon’s head cane in a death grip in front of her.  She was wearing an odd outfit of blue and teal, that looked like a dress combined with a military uniform, and a matching tricorne hat.  Voice cold and dripping with menace;

 

TEREZI

I have only known one other

Who can do what you have done;

He’s a convict on the chain gang,

He’s been ten years on the run.

 

            Here, she adjusted her sunglasses and leveled the cane at Equius’s chest as if it were a saber, striding forward and circling around the big man like a predator circles prey.

 

TEREZI

But he couldn’t run forever,

We have found his hideaway,

And he’s just been rearrested,

And he comes to court today.

Well, _of course_ he now denies it;

You’d expect that of a _con_.

But he couldn’t run forever,

No!  Not even Jean Valjean!

 

            Equius was confused.  “Is she talking to me?  I’ve never been on a chain gang, I’m a model citizen!”  Nepeta bent and whispered something into his ear.  “Oh.  Oh!”

 

EQUIUS

You say this man denies it all?

He gives no sign of understanding or repentance?

 

            The sound of his basso-profundo actually seemed to shake the air in front of him.  Dave made a sign to cut down on the vibrato.

 

EQUIUS

You say this man is going to trial,

And that he’s sure to be returned to serve his sentence?

Come to that,

Can you be sure

That _I_ am not your man?

 

            Terezi laughed, not her usual high cackle, but a low chuckle full of malevolence.

 

TEREZI

I have known the thief for ages,

Tracked him down through thick and thin,

And to make the matter certain

There’s the brand upon his skin!

 

            She touched Equius’s chest with the tip of her cane, caressing a little pattern towards the hollow of his throat and he visibly recoiled; the crowd ‘oohed’.

 

TEREZI

He will bend.

He will break.

This time there

Is no mistake!

 

            She removed her sunglasses with a smart, concise gesture and stared at the auditorium with her dead, black eyes.  They went wild.

            Dave raised his hands in defeat.  “Fine, Javert can be a girl,” he indicated Equius with his thumb, “as long as he’s Valjean.”

            “No,” Equius rumbled.  “I will not be separated from Nepeta.”

            Without missing a beat, Dave countered.  “What if I gave her a part?”

            “Absolutely not—”

            Nepeta smacked him on the head.  “That would be a wondfurful oppurrtunity!”

            “You hear that?” said Dave.  “Wondfurful.  You can’t beat that.  We’re basically taking anybody with a pulse at this point, but if you can actually sing Nepeta, that would be great too.”

            She cleared her throat and started humming a few bars, arms behind her back as if she were a child reciting some memorized lyric.

 

NEPETA

There is a castle on a cloud,  
I like to go there in my sleep!  
Aren't any floors for me to sweep,  
Not in my castle on a cloud.  
There is a room that's full of toys!  
There are a hundred boys and girls,  
Nobody shouts or talks too loud,  
Not in my castle on a cloud.  
There is a lady all in white,  
She holds me and sings a lullaby!  
She's nice to see, and she's soft to touch,  
She says "Nepeta, I love you very much."  
I know a place where no one's lost,  
I know a place where no one cries,  
Crying at all is not allowed,  
Not in my castle on a cloud!

 

            Nepeta’s voice was thin and wavering, very sweet and child-like.  Dave snapped his fingers.  “Well shit, you’d be a perfect Cosette, if we didn’t already have one.  Couldn’t you have sung a song from some other musical?”

            Nepeta giggled.  “That’s from this show?  I don’t even really watch meowsicals except for Disney.”

            Equius cracked his knuckles, a sound like a salvo of cannons.  “Are you going to go back on a promise you literally made two minutes ago?”

            “Well, three minutes ago, you completely against it!” John snapped.

            “Everyone shut up,” said Dave.  “There’s an easy solution.  In fact, it was stupid of us not to think of it before.  Both Nepeta and Vriska will play Cosette.”

            Everyone looked at him like he was an idiot.  He sighed.  “Have any of you ever even seen this show?”

            “I have!” shouted Terezi.

            “Then you should know that there’s a young Cosette and an older Cosette,” he snapped.  “John works well with Vriska, but his character only ever interacts with older Cosette.  Nepeta works well with Equius—”

            “They haven’t even sung together,” John interrupted.

            “Are you an idiot?” Dave replied.  “He’s going to be taking care of her throughout the first half like he basically does right now.  He’ll be playing himself just like Caliborn.  And can you even imagine Vriska singing _that_ song?”  John thought about it.  Then he burst out laughing.

           

            A little later, John and Dave strode through the crowd, trying to coerce people into joining up.  They were being far more receptive after the spectacle or ‘pre-show’ as Dave managed to convince them.  “Turning your massive failure into a selling point?  How very… _you_ of you,” said Rose, as she approached with Kanaya on her arm.

            “You wanna be in the show?” John asked.  “Kanaya’s doing it!”

            “I thought you were just doing costumes,” Rose said.

            Kanaya fidgeted a little.  “Well, it was very sudden; I didn’t know how to tell you….”

            “Who are you playing?” asked Rose.

            “Fantine….” Rose coughed, eyes wide with surprise.  “That…is a very big role!  A singing role!  You’ve never sung around me, but you sang for them?”

            “Egbert said he was aroused by her performance,” Dave said unhelpfully.  “Sexually, I mean.”

            “Don’t sound so bitter,” John said.  “We just walked in on her while she was singing to herself, and kind of coerced her.  We probably shouldn’t have—”

            “No,” said Kanaya, looking at her shoes, “it’s okay John, I want to do it.  I didn’t at first, but now I think it’s exciting.”

            “Well then,” said Rose, slowly, “I won’t hold it against them.  Dave, I would like to audition.”

            “Doesn’t matter,” said Dave, “we’ve only got a few hours left, we’re taking anyone.  Did you have a part in mind?”

            “I’ve always been fascinated by the role of Eponine—”

            “I fucking knew it,” said Dave.  “You are totally still holding a torch for John after all these years.”

            “What is he talking about?” asked Kanaya, arching an elegant eyebrow.

            Rose snorted.  “A kindergarten infatuation I had with John that Dave’s been unable to let go of.”  She whispered into Kanaya’s ear, loud enough for everyone else to hear, “he ships us.”

            “As soon as you heard that Vriska Serket was playing Cosette,” Dave continued, “the old flames were rekindled.  You were afraid that wih her larger than life, over-the-top personality, the inevitable result would be for them to fall in love on the stage.  Well you’re too late.  They had a duet during her tryout.  They had a fucking moment.  It was tender as shit.  You could feel the fucking sparks in the air.  I cried the tears of a proud father seeing his son become a man.”

            “I’m like a son to you?” John asked, cringing.

            Dave nodded.  “Yes John.  I am your father.  Search your feelings; you know it to be true.”

            Kanaya made a noise.  “Oh John no!”  She let go of Rose and grabbed John’s arm.  “You can’t fall in love with her.  She is, quite frankly, insane.  I remember when the two of us were going out—”

            “Wait,” John snapped, “Hold the fucking phone.” He shook Kanaya off him. “What are you saying about Vriska?”

            Er—”

            “Because if you’re saying that she swings both ways, then that is kind of awesome!” 

            Kanaya slapped her forehead.  “God, dammit John.”

            He grabbed her shoulders.  “Can you give me any dating tips?”

            “Yes, don’t date her.”

 

            With ten minutes to go, Dave still needed a few extras to round out the cast, as well as a Mrs. Thénardier.  Then, like manna from heaven, a flock of giggling girls approached, led by Feferi Peixes and her sister Meenah.  Despite being identical twins, they made an effort to look and act nothing alike.  Feferi’s hair was immaculately brushed and bleached blonde, for one thing, while Meenah’s was barely tamed in a pair of massive braids.  “I don’t think I want to do this,” muttered Aranea, Vriska’s older sibling.

            “Girl, all you have to do is work your God-given talents,” Meenah said with a fierce smile, giving the shyer girl a hard swat on the rear-end.

            Dave cleared his throat.  “Sup.  You here for the free makeouts?  That can be arranged.”

            “Fuck you, Strider,” said Meenah.  “As if I’d ever touch your pasty albino face with my face.”

            “Hell no, not you.  The pretty sister.”

            Feferi smiled.  “You’re so sweet—”

            “He just called me ugly—”

            “But actually,” she bent over giggling and the others erupted into a fit of tittering laughter before she continued, “we heard there was this one song called ‘Lovely Ladies’.”

            Dave’s eyebrow raised itself without his consent, straining his facial muscles.  “You all want to play….the hookers?”  The giggling became full-blown laughter.  “You’d best not be messing with me, because nobody has volunteered for that bit and I need it to be in the show,” he almost failed at maintaining his stoic façade.  He almost let slip his enthusiasm for the project and his desperation to meet his deadline.  Almost.

            Feferi shook her head.  “We really do want to do it!  I promise Dave!”  He was exploding inside, but only let out the tiniest fragment of a smile. 

            It promptly disappeared as another thought occurred.  Feferi’s mother was the mayor, and possibly also the devil.  “You know I’d love to have you onboard but I don’t think your mom would be cool with me dressing you up like an old-timey hooker and making you sing about dicks.  She’d probably have me run through with a fucking pitchfork.  Leave a single black rose on my corpse as a signature.”  They about died of laughter, but he could tell his point had been made.

            “I promise there won’t be any trouble!” Feferi pleaded.  “Mom is totally cool with this, we already asked her!”

            Dave felt a sinking feeling. “So what’s the catch?”

            Feferi grinned.  “We just need to put up a little banner.”

            Dave’s _other_ eyebrow raised itself unconsciously, rendering his expression surprised.  “Mayor Peixes is a supporter of education and the arts,” said Feferi, spreading her hands out in front of her.  “That’s all it says.  And also,” she pulled out some buttons; white tridents on red, reading PEIXES around the edges.  “We have to be wearing these during our number!”

            “Can’t we just have a guy handing them out at the door?” Dave asked, thinking quickly.  The Peixes siblings convened, and Feferi nodded excitedly.  “Awesome.  We have a deal.” He pointed at each of them, counting them off.  “Peixes family, Aranea, Porrim, Roxy, Calliope, Jade, you are all now working girls.”  They whooped and high fived.  “Hey if this works we might be doing Little Mermaid next month.  Feferi, John recommends you for Ariel, do you think you can—?”  Feferi shouted in jubilation and threw the pins up into the air like confetti.   Everybody ducked.

            “Hey cool-douche what about Damara?” Meenah said as she picked herself up off the floor.

            The foreign exchange student stood a bit off to the side of the group, so he hadn’t thought she was actually with them.  She shot him a haughty glare, arms crossed, a popped her bubble gum.  “Can she even speak English?”

            “Fuck you, Strider,” she said.  Ah.  Dave looked at her appraisingly.  Was Caliborn into Asian girls?

 

            At long last, the throng was released.  The Rainbow Rumpus Hostage Situation Audition Party Factory was a success far beyond what John and Dave had expected, as not only had they filled their cast list, but they had gotten the student body at large interested in what they actually had to say.  The talk that afternoon was of the kickass effects and stirring drama, and not (entirely) complaining about the lack of makeouts.

            Dave drafted the cast members into staying behind to clean up after, lest they lose the privilege of using the auditorium.  All save the Captors, whom Equius had hung by the scruffs of their necks from their control area.  They made the best of their situation by heckling the cleaners on the floor.  When they had almost finished cleaning and Dave was getting ready to cut them down, the doors opened one last time.  “You’re too late to audition,” he said, without seeing who it was.

            “OH GOD NO!” Karkat screamed, leaping off the stage and making for the emergency exit.  “I CAN FEEL HIM WHINING IN MY _SOUL_!”

            “That was very rude of you Karkat,” said the newcomer.  “Not only were you disrespectful towards me, your elder, but you were also acting in an inconsiderate manner to any people within earshot who may not believe in the existence of God or the human soul.  Imposing your beliefs on others is the most heinous of triggers.”

            “DO YOU EVEN HEAR YOURSELF TALK, KANKRI,” Karkat asked, rounding on his brother when he failed to open the door, “OR DO YOU JUST TUNE YOUR OWN HYPOCRITICAL BULLSHIT OUT?  HEY DAVE, IT’S TOO BAD WE’RE NOT DOING DISNEY’S HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME, BECAUSE WE WOULD HAVE A PERFECT FROLLO IN THIS SANCTIMONIOUS DOUCHE-NOZZLE, IF HE WEREN’T AN ASEXUAL WRECK OF A MAN.”

            Kankri sighed dramatically.  “And now here you go insulting the asexual population—”

            Karkat cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, “IS ANYONE IN THIS ROOM ASEXUAL?” There was a resounding cry of ‘Hell no’.  “DOES ANYONE DENY THE EXISTENCE OF GOD OR THE SOUL?  GAMZEE?”

            Gamzee gave a lazy wave.  “Nah, I’m a pantheist.  I believe in everything having all kinds of miracles up in its business.”

            “I’m an agnostic,” said Dave.

            “That’s the lazy man’s atheism,” said Rose.  “Which I am, by the way.”

            “I’m not entirely sure I believe in organized religion but I’m fairly certain that there is a higher power to which we are answerable,” said Kanaya, just as Caliborn burst out “I AM THE LORD THY GOD.”

            “Where my Catholics at?” John shouted.  From across the room, Aradia said, “woot woot!”

            “WHATEVER,” said Karkat, “WERE ANY OF THE ATHEISTS OFFENDED BY THIS ROUSING THEOLOGICAL DISCUSSION?”

            “I don’t care,” said Dave.  “No,” said Rose.

            “THERE YOU GO.  OUR CAST AND CREW IS COMPRISED OF A RAINBOW OF DIVERSITY ACROSS ALL FAITHS AND RACES AND NONE OF THEM, SURPRISINGLY, GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOU.”  Karkat flipped off his brother as hard as he could.

            Kankri pointedly ignored the gesture, or rather manic series of gestures.  “Be that as it may, there are other people in the world with more delicate sensibilities who may interpret your actions as being other than their actual meanings.”

            “No, it’s just you,” said Dave.

            Ignoring Dave, Kankri continued.  “And I’m sorry, but I take issue with this play.”

            “FUCK YOU VANTAS,” said Caliborn.  “YOU JUST WISH YOU COULD HAVE SHOWN UP EARLIER.  AND GOTTEN BITCHES LIKE WHAT I DID.”  He reached over and pulled Damara close, a very unamused expression on her face.

            “See, this play is full of talk like that,” Kankri said.  He didn’t ever seem to lose composure like his brother constantly did, but it was a different sort of composure.  He acted like a damn martyr, looking down at the world with an expression of pity, without having done anything to deserve it.  “Prostitution, disrespect for women, implied pedophilia, child abuse, excessive violence, excessive drug and alcohol abuse, racism—”

            John let out a hearty guffaw.  “How?!  Every character is French!”

            “On a metatextual level,” said Kankri without losing stride at all, “it portrays the French in a negative light, with only a few characters actually being decent human beings.  Furthermore, the exclusion of other races from the proceedings is at the _very least_ historically inaccurate.  However,” he produced a binder, “I understand the cultural as well as artistic importance of this show, and considering that the current opinion seems to be largely positive, I am willing to compromise before lodging a formal complaint to the proper authorities.  This manuscript,” he said, handing it over to Dave, “contains a slightly edited version of the script with the most triggering material excised or reworded.”

            Dave hefted the binder in his hand.  “This is way lighter than the scripts I’ve been handing out,” he said.

            “There is a great deal of triggering material,” said Kankri.

            Dave leafed through it.  “The songs don’t rhyme anymore, without a reason for conflict the heroes come off as jerks, you’ve removed every reference to God or prostitution, making one wonder what the fuck Fantine is actually doing right now, and turned the bishop into—”  Dave removed his eye-patch and squinted at the page, “a non-denominational guidance councilor for ex-cons?  You know the point of his character is that he’s _not_ expected to help Valjean, right?”

            Gamzee was no longer listening.  Changing the bishop?  That character had changed his motherfucking life, and they wanted to change it?  This could not stand.  “THIS.”  He shouted; everyone stared, “is,” he whispered tremulously, voice so low the people strained to hear, “BLASPHEMY!”

            He stormed over to Kankri, snatching the folder out of Dave’s hand, and tore it in half.  He threw the pieces up into the air, and they rained down like overlarge snowflakes.  Kankri was unimpressed.  “Violence doesn’t solve anything.  If you had problems with my script you could easily have perused the document and left me a series of notes—”

            Gamzee grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and lifted him up.  “YOU’RE REAL GOOD AT TALKIN’ MOTHERFUCKER,” he shouted in his face.  Bringing him in so close that their noses were touching, he whispered, “but not so good at listening.  GET.  The fuck.  OUT!”  Gamzee dropped Kankri and the other boy stumbled, dazed.

            To his credit, Kankri was fairly unshakable.  He dusted off his red turtleneck and made an annoyed huff, saying, “then I’m afraid I’ll have to go plead my case,” then turned on his heel and left the auditorium.  John started up a slow clap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t retcon the last note so that it says something different will happen in this chapter! Why would you even say that? Weirdo.  
> This chapter shoulda been called "Fuck You Strider". Hehe. Terezi's interpretation of Javert is of a manipulative devil-figure, which is pretty far from canon. In her mind, that scene she had with Equius is about Javert fooling him into confession. This interpretation came about because she thought the canon explanation made Javert come off as stupid.  
> Another vanity project that ended up becoming really, really proportionally popular compared to my other fics. Seriously, the last time I thought something would be ‘just personal thing that will amuse only me’ it turned into Thief of Prospit.  
> So yeah, I might actually finish a fic in a timely manner! What the fuck. Nah, better go get distracted by some shit for like two months.  
> Character’s religious denominations: did I trigger you? I just sort of felt their voices telling me in my head while I was writing that bit. I’m not crazy. Read a fic once where Feferi was an atheist, and I found that to be the least possible thing ever because she was literally raised by an actual god. John and Aradia being Catholic: all the Catholics I know are a bit weird. Being a Catholic myself, I can say that. Also Aradia always looked vaguely Hispanic to me; being Hispanic myself I can safely say most of us are Catholic. Why am I still talking about this?  
> Dave shipping John with Rose; not a shot at that ship, but a callback to canon where Rose keeps insinuating that Dave is gay for John. Damn near everything else exists just because I thought it was funny.  
> Next chapter: dress rehearsal, conflict comes to a head, show time. See you then.


	3. Fuck You, Strider

**Seventeen hours before the critical moment:**

 

CHOIR

_CONFITEOR DEO_

_OMNIPOTENTI_

_BEATAE MARIAE_

_SEMPER VIRGINI_

_BEATO MICHAELI ARCHANGELO_

_SANCTIS APOSTOLIS OMNIBUS SANCTIS_

 

???

Beata Maria,

You know I am a righteous man.

Of my virtue I am justly proud…

 

CHOIR

_ET TIBIT PATER_

 

???

Beata Maria,

You know I’m so much purer than

The common, vulgar, weak

Licentious crowd!

 

CHOIR

_QUIA PECCAVI NIMIS_

 

???

Then tell me,

Maria,

Why I—

 

            “Kankri, stop it.  Stop calling me when the church across the street is having choir practice.”

 

CHOIR

_COGITATIONE_

 

            “I’m sorry, am I triggering you?  I find the singing to be very beautiful, but it is also quite denominational and if you find it to be imposing on your beliefs—”

            “Kankri, it _is_ beautiful, that’s why they do it.  That’s the point of it.  But it makes you start singing and calling me Maria.  And no, it’s _not_ triggering, it’s annoying.”

 

CHOIR

_VERBO ET OPERE_

 

            “Are you really going to try to shut down our show?”

            “Oh come on, they’re exploiting you!”

 

CHOIR

_MEA CULPA_

 

            “No, Kankri, me and my girlfriends are just going to do a cute little number full of innuendos.  There’s nothing wrong with that.  It’s going to be spectacular.”

 

CHOIR

_MEA CULPA_

 

            “Tsk, tsk tsk.  You’re going to be setting women’s rights all the way back to the historical period in which that production takes place.  Aren’t _you_ always griping at _me_ about women’s rights?”

 

CHOIR

_MEA MAXIMA CULPA!_

 

            “Hmph.  You’re the one trying to stop the first school play in the history of school plays that people are actually excited about.”

 

CHOIR

_MEA CULPA_

 

            “And come to think of it, why _don’t_ you care about women’s rights?”

 

CHOIR

_MEA CULPA_

 

            “You care enough for both of us, I think.  In fact, I would say you care enough for two of me.”

 

CHOIR

_MEA MAXIMA CULPA!_

 

            “Haha!  Take that back.”

            “It’s the truth.”

            “In all seriousness, Kankri, I really, really want to do this.”

            “Ugh.  Alright then.  I’ll see if I can reason with them tomorrow.”

            “Will I see you at the audition?”

            “Maybe on your way out.  I’d rather not make a scene.”

            “Who are you and what have you done with my Kankri?”

 

CHOIR

_KYRIE ELEISON!_

 

            “Great Scott, that was loud!”

            “Sweet merciful Allah.  Are you censoring yourself for me or for the church?”

            “Are you being inflammatory for me, or for the church?”

 

CHOIR

_KYRIE ELEISON!_

 

            “Good night Kankri.  I’m sure you’ll do the right thing.”

            “I always do the right thing.”

            “Lord knows you try.”

 

CHOIR

_KYRIE ELEISON!_

 

            “Good night.  I love you.  In a completely platonic, asexual way, of course.”

            “Ugh.  Se la vi.”

 

            Kankri hung up.  He’d been trying to have a conversation about something else entirely, but maybe this was for the best.  He opened his window.  The people were streaming out of the cathedral.  He thought he spied John Egbert.  Dear Lord, that one was annoying. 

            He slipped both his legs out the windowsill, then reached up and swung himself onto the roof.  The stars were beginning to come out, little flecks of silver blinking into being against the rose-edged fabric of the evening.  Kankri walked along the edge.  He had no fear of falling.  Kankri’s greatest redeeming factor, as well as his greatest flaw, was his self-assuredness.  Often, he felt as if he were the only sane person in the world.  People at school for example went around breaking each other’s hearts, getting into insane fights, making up over insanely high proof liquor, and then starting the whole damned thing over again.  If they just _thought_ about the things they said before they spoke, then maybe they wouldn’t all be so miserable.  It really did feel like he had the world on his shoulders, sometimes.

            One foot in front of the other, along the edge of the roof.  He wasn’t even looking down.  He was looking up.  “Stars,” he mused, “in your multitudes.”  His was a tenor, softer than Karkat’s, and lower, but lacking in passion.

 

KANKRI

Scarce to be counted,

Filling the darkness,

With order and light.

You are the sentinels,

Silent and sure.

Keeping watch in the night.

Keeping watch in the night….

You know your place in the sky;

You know your course and your aim,

And each in your season returns and returns,

And is always the same.

 

            A bright ember of green flitted across the sky, twisting back on itself before burning out completely.  Kankri climbed up to the peak of the roof.

 

KANKRI

And if you fall as Lucifer fell,

You fall in flames.

And so it must be,

For so it is written,

On the doorway to paradise,

That those who falter and those who fall,

Must pay the price.

This I swear!

THIS I SWEAR BY THE STA—

 

            “GET THE FUCK DOWN!” Shouted Karkat from the backyard.  Kankri hadn’t even seen him because of his dark sweater.  “YOU’RE GOING TO BREAK YOUR NECK, AND THEN WHO WILL BE A PIOUS TWAT AT ME ALL DAY?”

            Kankri covered his mouth, embarrassed.  Had he been singing?  Out loud?  He’d been shouting hadn’t he?  Jesus Christ, he might have triggered someone.  There was an animal inside of him—

            “HEY ARE YOU DEAF?” Karkat screamed, cupping his hands to his mouth, as if he needed the amplification.  “DAD IS GOING TO BE SO PISSED OFF IF HIS LITTLE DISCIPLE BREAKS HIS PRECIOUS SPINE!”  Kankri could feel himself growling.  That animal’s name was Karkat Vantas.

 

**Four hours and thirteen minutes before the critical moment:**

            John saw Vriska across the lunchroom, getting her food at one of the little windows.  As smoothly as possible, he bolted from his position in line like a madman, snatching a few cartons of chocolate milk (Dave’s words of ‘chicks dig chocolate’ reverberated in his head), barreled through the five other lines, leaving a trail of spilled and scattered lunches and a legion of massacred toes.  Finally he shoved aside the smaller, lamer boy that she’d been talking to.  “Sup?” he asked, catching his breath.  Smooth as _fuck_.

            “Hi John!”  Vriska looked over his shoulder and grinned.  “Way to start a food fight!”  John turned around in surprise, only now noticing the brawl that was breaking out in his wake. 

            “That was entirely intentional,” he lied.  “I did that intentionally.  As I often do.”

            She chuckled.  “Let’s go sit down somewhere private,” she said, fingers brushing his arm, “Practice our lines.”  Vriska tossed her crimson mane with habitual ease; she probably did it unconsciously.  A few strands of hair touched John’s cheek and for a split second, a shiver ran up and down his spine.

            The other boy was finally getting up, “wait, uh, Vriska—”

            “We’ll talk later Timmy,” she said with a dismissive gesture.

            “Um, it’s Tavros—”

            “Yeah, that guy.”

            Vriska led him out of the cafeteria and towards a secluded cluster of trees out on the grounds.  They were those thickly foliaged trees with whippy branches and stiff, broad leaves that one only seems to find at schools, and had not been pruned in ages; the branches nearly touched the ground.

            Vriska took a moment to apply some pale blue lipstick.  “Do you want to start?” she asked, raising her left eyebrow.  John noticed the cobalt blue iris was slightly larger than the right one.  It was…intriguing.  Emboldened, not knowing or caring if she reciprocated, he took her hands in his;

 

JOHN

In my life,  
You have burst like the music of angels,  
The light of the sun!  
And my life seems to stop  
As if something is over  
And something has scarcely begun!

And I soar through a world that is new, a world that is fr—

 

            With a hard jerk, Vriska pulled him against her and kissed him full on the mouth.  She adjusted her grip so one hand was across John’s back and the other against his neck, and started bending him towards the ground.  For a brief moment, he had one leg in the air, and then he was on the floor, delirious with shocked delight, and a shade of red that had previously only been attainable by crushing up rare beetles from the Canary Isles.

            Vriska pulled back from the passionate kiss, punctuating it with a much softer, shorter one, before sitting up.  On John’s chest.  “Um,” he began.

            She shooshed him.  “You don’t want to start using filler words like that.  It’s a slippery slope into a baaaaaaaad habit.  Now hold on a second….”  She reached behind her and produced a tiny purse, and began rummaging through it.  “Where the Hell is it?  We need it before we can…”  John was unsure if he liked where this was going.

            “U—” John promptly remembered her warning against ‘filler words’ and quickly altered his cadence into an ‘I’ when he saw Vriska’s expression.  “ _I_ think this might be moving a bit too fast—”

            “What are you babbling about?” asked Vriska, producing a blue sharpie.  “Hold still,” and within in an instant, there was something like a cursive ‘m’ with a stinger on his forehead.  “I own you now,” she said, somehow both authoritatively and seductively.

            John strangled an ‘um’ in his throat before it could come out.  Vriska kissed him again and his protestations fell silent.  “Look at this,” she said, reaching under her shirt.

            “Oh God,” said John, beginning to panic, “look, I really, _really_ like you, a lot, but I’m a good Catholic boy and I really want to wait for my first time to be special—”

            “What the fuck are you talking about?”  Vriska growled.  She produced a small notebook.  “I keep it in there so people won’t see it!”

            John heaved a sigh of relief.  “What,” said Vriska, “is the idea of sex with me soooooooo repulsive?”  Jesus Christ….

 

**One hour before the critical moment:**

            The band struck up a salvo of trumpets, setting the mood for a bustling scene of frantic activity and tragicomic action.

            “Nepeta, did you finish painting the set?”

            “HEY.” 

            “Kanaya, time is running out.”

            “HEY.”

            “Gamzee _put the bottle down_!  Captor bros, are you quite done yet?”

            “Fuck you Strider, we’ll be done when we are done.”

            “ _EVERYONE SHUT UP_!”  Karkat raised his voice beyond its usual level of shouting; the unusually powerful tenor hurting everyone’s ears.  “Where the fuck is John?” he asked, much quieter so as to give people’s ears a break.

            “Actually, I was about to ask after Vriska,” said Rose, rubbing her temples.

            “OH  DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN NO!”  Said Kanaya, jumping up from her work table, spilling a mass of faux-silk scraps.  She bolted for the door.  Dave apprehended her.  “LET ME GO SHE’S PROBABLY DRAWING THINGS ON HIM RIGHT NOW!”

            “Rose,” Dave said, “calm your woman!”  Rose sighed and started rubbing Kanaya’s scalp.

            “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” she shouted, trying to brush her off.

            “It’s for your own good,” Rose insisted. “Now hush.”  Kanaya’s head began lolling. 

            “We need to save John….” she slurred.

            “Shoosh, darling,” said Rose, voice going low and taking on a comforting tone.  “John’s a big boy and he can handle himself.”

            “Not if…she uses the…” Kanaya leaned into Rose and shut here eyes.  She started purring.  “Blue lipstick.”

            “She’ll be out of commission for about fifteen minutes,” said Rose, caressing Kanaya’s head.

            “That’s okay,” said Dave.  “We won’t need her for twenty.  And we won’t even need the lovebirds tonight.  I’ve made some changes—”

            “I’m sorry motherfucker,” said Gamzee in his usual friendly tone, “but did you just say you made some motherfuckin’ changes?”

            “Yeah actually I did,” said Dave.  A cold wind passed through the auditorium as time seemed to stand still.  Sollux sidled up to Aradia, who made the sign of the cross.  Eridan wrapped his coat tightly against his body.  Feferi looked terrified.  Meenah looked excited.  Caliborn got out his video camera.  Damara popped her bubble gum.

            “What the Hell is wrong with you people?” said Dave, looking around.  “I made some changes to our schedule.  We’re rehearsing the first half today, the second half tomorrow, and the whole thing on Saturday.  Shit’s like four hours long do you wanna be here all night?”  The cast heaved a sigh of relief as they finally realized what he was talking about. 

            “I wasn’t gonna change the script,” said Dave, removing his monocle to polish it with a handkerchief.  “Gamzee would disembowel me.”  He snapped his fingers.  Almost as an afterthought, he added, “but there is one thing I moved ‘I Dreamed a Dream’ to be after ‘Lovely Ladies’.”  There was a massive collective inhalation of breath. 

            Gamzee cracked his knuckles.  “I THINK WE”RE ABOUT TO NEED A NEW MOTHERFUCKIN’ DIRECTOR!”

            “Dude, it just makes more sense that way, calm your tits.”  He stepped forward and made an expansive gesture.  “Check it.  You’re in the audience and Fantine just got fired.  She goes down to the docks, and the two fucking people in the room that have actually doled out a couple hundred to the Pantages to see this shit before are like ‘aw Hell nah, did they cut the saddest song ever written just because it was a high school production?’  Then time passes and Fantine is at rock-fucking-bottom.  And only then does she go her most emo.  And imagine that shit,” here he turned dramatically and pointed at Kanaya, currently dribbling into his sister’s shoulder, “with her fucking voice.  Most of you ain’t heard it yet but Kanaya has the thermonuclear mutually assured destruction of voices.”

            Their was an awed silence at Dave’s directorial genius, mostly because they thought he’d just gotten by on sheer bravado and had no actual talent in the field, therefore even this slight amount of initiative was like a splash of cold water in the face.  Sollux busily pounded away on a calculator.  “But that would break everyone’s heart forever!”

            “You did not write an equation for how long someone’s heart can be broken!” said Jade, looking over his shoulder at the screen.  Her eyes widened.  Sollux grinned and nodded.

            Dave ignored them.  “It’s an understatement to say that there won’t be a dry eye in the house.  If half the fucking audience doesn’t commit suicide right then and there then I’ll have failed as a director.”  The cast clapped.  Dave took a short bow.  “Yeah, I know.”

 

            The rehearsal got off to a rough start because the band forgot to learn the fucking songs.  It wasn’t the school band, they were too important, but a student group that called themselves the Midnight Crew and usually played frantic jazz remixes.  The short, adorable little Jewish one kept goofing off and playing the cantina theme from Star Wars on his clarinet.  Their leader kept snarling at anybody who so much as looked at the chubby harpist who was presumably his girlfriend.  The big guy kept leering at everybody suggestively.

            They’d shown up yesterday right after Kankri had left.  Dave was certain he’d never actually spoken to these guys, as they spent most of their time ditching class, smoking, and wearing immaculately tailored suits.  They were technically a gang, but they seemed to think it was the 1920s.  The leader, a perpetually pissed-off looking black kid with a glass eye stepped forward.  “We’re your new band.”

            “Fuck off,” Dave has said.

            “Fuck you!”

            “Dave,” Rose had muttered, “we actually do need a band.  The school orchestra has a thing that weekend.”

            “Bullshit,” he said.

            “Afraid not,” said the next tallest member, a slick looking Hispanic boy with a pencil thin moustache.  He gently nudged aside his ‘leader’.  ”The city-state of Sparta had twin kings, one to lead her people in battle and one to manage the affairs of the state,” he said.  “Let’s consider this a matter of state unless those Irish mugs from downtown try to get in on this, eh?”

 

**A few minutes before the critical moment:**

            Of course, all the fucking around ended when their sixth member appeared as if from nowhere.  A tall, elegant young black lady with, Dave noted, legs that went on for miles, came striding down the aisles glaring down her nose at everybody, then produced a custom violin shaped like an infinity symbol and began to play.  “Wait who the fuck are you?” Dave asked, or nearly asked before the little one pulled him down and whispered, “Snowman does what she wants.  Just leave her alone and we’ll get through this!”

            “Does she even go here?” Dave muttered.  No one answered.

            Everyone’s performance was admirable, and the scenes were acted and conducted to Dave’s satisfaction.  Feferi and her ‘Lovely Ladies’ managed to be a riot up until Kanaya started selling bits of herself, which was quite expertly disturbing.  And then came ‘I Dreamed a Dream.’  The band stopped playing halfway through, but no one seemed to mind.  Eridan muttered that he felt as if he’d just been cut in half, and no one could be bothered to shush him.  When she finished, lying prone on the floor with her skirts splayed around her like a spreading pool of blood, there was naught but silence.  Rose, seated as she was in John’s seat next to Dave, rung her hands nervously, biting her lip, visibly torn between rushing to her girlfriend’s aid and maintaining composure.  Arms up like the Pieta Virgin without a Jesus to hold, the sight of Kanaya invoked at least a single tear from everyone involved.  Everyone, that is, except Dave.

            “Kanaya,” he said, cracking his riding crop as everyone finally broke out into applause, “stop fucking with me.”

            “Dave shut up,” Rose snapped.  “I know you are obligated to hate everything because of your stupid ironic moral code, but that was flawless—”

            “It was good,” Dave said, nodding in agreeance.  “It might even have been great.  But you,” he said, pointing at Kanaya, “were trying to please others.  The other day, you were just singing for yourself, and that was special.  Now do it again.”

            He sat back down and snapped open a bottle of apple juice he’d had chilling under the chair.  He slipped the monocle in his pocket and removed the eye-patch, replacing them with his trademark shades.  “We’re not even here right now,” Dave took a long pull from the juice bottle.  “It’s just you.  You are alone in the gutter by some docks in a town in France whose name isn’t worth remembering.  Your dreams have just been crushed beyond all repair.  You’ve just sold yourself to pay for medicine for your daughter, who you haven’t seen in months.  Your name is Fantine.  Go.”

            Kanaya shuddered and wiped her eyes.  She looked as if she’d been hit with a sack of bricks, repeatedly.  Then she began.

 

KANAYA

There was a time when men were kind,  
When their voices were soft,  
And their words inviting.  
There was a time when love was blind,  
And the world was a song,  
And the song was _exciting_.  
There was a time….  
Then it all went wrong.  
I dreamed a dream in times gone by,  
When hope was high  
And life worth living.  
I dreamed that love would never die!  
I dreamed that God would be forgiving.  
Then I was young and unafraid,  
And dreams were made and used and _wasted_.  
There was no ransom to be paid,  
No song unsung,  
No wine untasted!  
But the tigers come at night,  
With their voices soft as thunder.  
As they tear your hope apart,  
As they turn your dream to _shame_!

 

            The doors opened.  Everyone was so enraptured that they didn’t notice, But Dave had never been one to put all of himself into a single thing, even now.  As quick as a flash, he was over by the exit, brandishing the riding crop like a sword.  “Nobody wants you here Kankri,” he whispered.  “If you want to hear Kanaya sing, just come to the show on Sunday like everyone else.  Or stalk her until she starts singing Habanera to herself, either/or.”

 

KANAYA  
He slept a summer by my side…  
He filled my days with endless wonder….  
He took my _childhood in his stride_ ,  
But he was gone when autumn came.

 

            Kankri bent his head over Dave’s shoulder and got the slightest tap with the crop for his troubles.  “I’ll thank you not to assault me, David.”

            “Fuck you Vantas.”

            Kankri rolled his eyes.

 

KANAYA  
And _still_ I dream he'll come to me!  
That we'll live the years together!  
But there are dreams that cannot be!  
And there are storms we cannot weather!

 

            “Porrim is going to be so disappointed in me,” he said, almost musingly as he produced a letter written on official school stationary.  Dave didn’t even know there _was_ school stationary; this must have been important.

            “You need to get laid,” said Dave.  “It feels good, or so I hear.”

 

KANAYA  
I had a dream my life would be  
So different from this _Hell_ I'm living!  
So different now from what it seemed!  
Now life has killed  
The dream I dreamed…..

 

            “Vow of celibacy,” said Kankri with a dismissive wave of his hand, voice barely carrying over the thunderous applause.  “I’d hate to bring a child into this world.”

            “Tell it to your girlfriend, I’m sure she’d love to hear that,” said Dave, tearing open the letter.  “And you are so full of yourself.  When the world’s a better place you’ll be the only one without anybody to bury you.”

            “Aren’t you going to read it?” asked Kankri.

            “I know what it says, what the fuck else could it be?  Now get out before I assault you.”  Kankri left Dave with his letter proclaiming the cancelation of the production.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, this isn’t the ending. I’ve gotten pretty good at eye-balling how long a chapter is going to be, and at around page seven I realized it would be over twenty pages and I’d be unable to finish it by Sunday night like I wanted. So, hopefully, I’ll finish it tomorrow, though I might take a break from this to finally update Thief of Prospit again.  
> I’m sure exactly none of you are devastated that this story will continue past its allotted time. Only one more chapter. I swear.  
> Looks like John’s prospects of getting laid have taken a serious hit. That is the most important thing that happened here. *blatant lies* And it's a good thing Vriska interrupted his singing, because he totally fuck up his lines.  
> You now have the idea of Kankri as Frollo. Search your feelings, you know it to be true. Next chapter, there will be more singing, and at least one song not from Les Mis, and Jake will be in it, and it’ll probably end.  
> Haha, the singing is so dumb. I have all these songs on my computer so I just play them while I write/revise this shit, but you don’t….  
> Snowman goes to a private school across town and is part of the choir from the beginning of the chapter. She is the only girl and the only black person on the choir, all the rest of them are Irish. They wear felt gowns.


	4. The Show Must Go On

            “And this is you as a pirate,” said Vriska.  It was, indeed, a drawing of John as a pirate, and fairly well-done.  “I used to be pretty terrible at drawing but I just kept at it and now I can do what you see before you!”

            “You sure do like the color blue,” said John.  Every single drawing she’d had in her notebook was done entirely in shades of blue, with occasional splashes of red.

            “Every artist needs a gimmick,” she said authoritatively.

            John nodded, “I suppose so.  If you know what to look for, you can always tell the famous ones apart, even if it’s a lesser known piece.”  Still perusing the document, he noticed something odd.  It was dated last year.

            Vriska kissed him again.  “That’s enough art, let’s get out of here,” she said.

            “Okay,” he said, having forgotten what he was thinking.

 

            “SO.  What the motherfuck.  ARE WE GOING TO DO?” said Gamzee, spazzing out in the middle of the auditorium.

            “Well, I know what I’m going to do,” said Karkat.  _Said_.   Everyone stared in shocked silence as he strode out of the room.

            Everyone looked to Dave.  “Well?” said Rose.

            Dave shrugged.  “Nothing we can do, it’s over.”

            “But we put so much time and shit into this!” shouted Mituna; everyone in his immediate vicinity shielded themselves.

            Dave shrugged.  “Don’t you even care?” scoffed Kanaya.  “This was your thing from the beginning!  You got us all invested in your project!”  She reddened.  “You made me sing in front of _people_!”

            “ _And_ you made me correct my speech impediment!” Eridan shouted, shaking his fist.

            “You two act like that was a bad thing,” Dave pointed out.  “I helped you improve.  Besides, I just wanted to see if I could do it.  If it’s any consolation I think this would have been pretty cool.”  He sat back down and opened up another apple juice.  He was clearly done.

            “So we’re not going to sing?” Nepeta asked Equius.  He lifted her up onto his shoulders.  “We can sing at home,” he rumbled.

            “I wanted to be the bishop,” Gamzee muttered, looking dejected.

            “I’ll call my mom,” Feferi said, sounding panicked.  “I know she’ll help….” Of course deep down, she knew her mother was not a very helpful person, but she pulled out her little pink phone anyway, and stalked off into the corner, trembling slightly.

            “Well I’m good,” said Sollux with uncharacteristic glee, “just got an email from Industrial Light & Magic.  Deuces,” he said, flashing the peace sign as he pulled out his tablet and all but skipped out the side exit.  Mituna followed hurriedly.

            “What do we do with all this stuff?” asked Jade, pulling off her tricorne hat.  “Should we give it back to Kanaya?”

            “Keep it,” she said, putting on her walking shoes but not bothering to go change her clothes.  “Rose, we have to go save John before the spider gets her fangs into him,” she dragged Rose away by her hand, and the other girl sighed.

            “Wait!  He’s my brother after all!” Jade shouted as she ran after them.

            “So we’re still getting paid right?” said the leader of the band.

            In the ensuing commotion, Dave slipped out of the auditorium, alone.

           

            It wasn’t so bad, Dave thought.  Sure, the production was canceled, but maybe he could try again.  If he felt like it.  Certainly not right now, or he’d come across as desperate.  The event had been put together competently, if rather hurriedly and in an unorthodox manner.  Surely they’d let him try again, with a less ‘offensive’ play.  Would he be able to intimidate the principle again though?  And Kankri had probably warned him against Dave Strider.  Maybe he could get someone else to do it, and lead the project in secret.  John or someone.  Yes, John could be the director of the production, but Dave would be the director of him—

            It was only then that he noticed the white car with tinted windows driving next to him, moving with suspicious slowness.  Dave walked faster and it accelerated.  Dave slowed down and it did as well.  Dave stopped and the back window rolled down.  John’s smiling face grinned out at him—no, this guy had green eyes and seemed to actually run a comb through his hair once in a while.

            “Hello old sport!  Would you like a ride?”

            “Hell naw,” said Dave.

            “I think it would be in your best interests,” said the boy.  Dave hesitated.  He didn’t seem to exude any menace.  “It concerns the matter of your little production _.  Les Mis_ , correct?” 

            Damn.  It all fell onto Dave at once, the actuality of losing his project so close to its completion, the first thing he’d ever felt really, truly ambitious about.  He got into the car.  The interior was the gaudiest possible green leather and mother-of-pearl decor.  Only the rich had this little class, Dave thought.  “Good evening,” the guy didn’t skip a beat and was already talking before Dave even sat down.  The car took off at speed as they shook hands; he wore a pinky ring shaped like a grinning green skull.  “You may call me Jake English, and you may also consider me a patron of the arts,” he explained.

            Dave nodded.  “So what?”

            Jake chuckled.  “You can take that in the more archaic sense of the word, in that I in fact finance artistic works like some Renaissance era Dodge throwing florins at de Vinci, particularly theatre.”  Dave could feel him spelling it Britishly in his head.  “I always considered myself a film buff, see, but my friends urged me to be more shall we say, cultured?”  If this guy was uncultured Dave would hate to meet his friends.  “So I took in a production of Phantom of the Opera down at the Grand Fiducia Theatre; a charming little place, have you heard of it?”  Dave had, in fact.  Or perhaps he hadn’t, because there was no way to describe the absolute _palace_ he was thinking of as ‘a charming little place’.  He simply gave an indeterminate half-nod.

            “Well regardless, I was absolutely enamored of the artform ever since,” Jake explained, “and when I heard of your ambitious efforts, I absolutely had to involve myself!”

            “Well you’re too late,” said Dave.  “The school shut us down.  Any help you could have given us doesn’t matter anymore.”

            Jake chuckled.  “Are you quite sure of that?  I don’t think you understand exactly how wealthy I am.”  The car finally pulled to a stop.  “How about instead of being the school’s new drama club,” he said as the window rolled down, “you become my personal theatre troupe?”  Just outside was an old movie theater that seemed to have recently been renovated, painted a cheerful buttercup yellow.  The sign, newly fitted with copper and brass, read ‘The Old Prospitian’.  “I’ve been looking for someone to fill the slot, and what I heard from your school quite impressed me.”

            Dave was glad he was still wearing his shades, because he didn’t want the bewilderment on his face to show.  “What do I have to do?”

            “Be as impressive as they say you are,” said Jake.  He leaned in conspiratorially.  “And don’t tell anyone about my involvement, eh old sport?”

 

            It was now evening and John and Vriska were in a park, watching the sunset over the pond.  They were seated on a rock, leaning into each other, arms linked.  He smelled the rich scent of her hair.  John was entirely uncertain of how they’d gotten there, or even what park it was, but he was happy.  So what if he didn’t recognize the hills on the horizon?  They were beautiful.  Or if he felt dizzy?  Vriska was there to steady him.  Or if people were looking at him funny?  Vriska wasn’t.  Or if he tasted metal—actually that was probably bad.

            She planted a tender kiss on his cheek.  He chuckled and forgot his problems.  Vriska whispered into his ear, low and soothing, as she walked her hand up his spine, spiderlike;

 

VRISKA

Perhaps I had a wicked childhood…

Perhaps I had a miserable youth…

But somewhere in my wicked, miserable past,

There must have been a moment of truth.

For here you are, sitting there, loving me,

Whether or not you _should_.

So somewhere in my youth, or childhood,

I must have done _something_ good.

Nothing comes from nothing,

Nothing ever could,

So somewhere in my youth, or childhood,

I must have done something good.

 

            She sighed contentedly, almost a purr, and fell silent.  John nuzzled against her neck and took up the song.

 

JOHN

For here you are, sitting there, loving me, loving me,

Whether or not you should,

 

            Vriska chuckled, doubting there was any reason for _her_ to stay away from _him_ , other than for his own safety of course;

 

VRISKA

So somewhere in my youth, or childhood,

I must have done something good.

 

JOHN & VRISKA

Nothing comes from nothing,

Nothing ever could.

So somewhere in my youth,

 

JOHN

(Hehehe) Or childhood,

 

VRISKA

I _must_ have done something,

 

JOHN & VRISKA

Something good….

 

            And for the first time that day, John initiated the kiss.  And was promptly dragged off his feet by a pair of surprisingly strong arms.  Surprisingly, that is, because the arms belonged to the rail-thin Kanaya and the quite petite Rose.  “Oh my God, no!”  Kanaya hissed, covering her mouth.

            “What’s wrong?” John chuckled, feeling light-headed.

            “You are a _mess_ John!” she barked.

            Rose clarified.  “You seem to have a great deal of blue lipstick smeared about your face and neck—Kanaya, what exactly is the problem?”

            “She branded him is the problem!” shouted Kanaya, pointing to the mark on John’s forehead.  John chuckled.

            “John, are you…are you _high_?” asked Jade, suddenly there and out of breath for some reason.

            “Yes,” John said, nodding vigorously, “high on _love_!”

            Jade bent over, clutching her stomach.  “That was soooo bad John!  I think you just killed me.”

            John ignored her.  “Where is Vriska?”  He pushed himself up with his elbows.

            “She took off after we pulled you away,” said Rose, looking bored.  “Kanaya chased her for a bit but…” she shrugged.

            John squinted at her.  “Hehe, good one!  You guys just got here.”

            Rose nodded.  “Yes, only just ten minutes ago.”

            John blinked.  What?

            “High on love,” Kanaya muttered.  “High on that… _stuff_ she puts in her lipstick!”  John blinked repeatedly…what?

            Jade sighed and helped him up.  “She left behind some stuff,” she said, pulling out a sheaf of papers.   “It looks like…she’s been stalking you?”  John shuffled through them.  “That’s…” he said, face falling.  “Kind of awesome!”

 

            Kankri found Karkat sitting in his chair once he got home.  It was evening, nearly but not quite sunset.  He was wearing his costume for the play that wouldn’t be, a heavy velvet coat, wine-red, a navy blue waistcoat, and a golden-yellow scarf.  He looked quite imposing.  “What are you doing?” asked Kankri.

            Karkat did not answer.

            “Are you going to rage and scream and shout at me, like you always do?”

            Karkat did not answer.

            “Well I don’t care,” snapped Kankri.  “You think I’m the only tiresome person in this household?  You think you’re such an angel?  You think you’re always right?  WELL YOU FUCKING—” Kankri covered his mouth and turned away.

            “Kankri, I know exactly what I am,” said Karkat.  Kankri shivered.  “I’m a miserable angry shit-stain.”

            “Why aren’t you shouting?”

            “But you,” Karkat continued, pointing at Kankri with his own yardstick, “don’t recognize your own faults.  You are, quite frankly, a—”

            “WHY AREN’T YOU SHOUTING?!”

            “I’m trying to preserve my voice,” said Karkat.  “For the show.  It’s only a week away.”

            “THE SH—” Kankri stopped himself.  “The show is canceled.  I’m sorry.”

            “No, it’s just been moved,” said Karkat.  He stood up.  “I thought long and hard about what to do to you.  Honestly, I didn’t figure it out until a few hours ago when I got some interesting news.  But before that, I had all kinds of ideas.  I thought I would scream and rage and yell, but that has never worked.   Not on you, and not on anybody.  And like I said, I need my voice.  You can thank this play for one thing at least, it taught me restraint.”  He put a hand on his brother’s shoulder.  “I thought about taking you out behind the shed with Gamzee and busting your kneecaps with his baseball bat and a crowbar.  But you’re my brother,” he said.  “It would leave a bad taste in my mouth, no doubt.”  He popped his neck.  “I thought about putting your stupid turtleneck—”

            “It’s the same turtleneck as yours,” Kankri snapped, slapping off Karkat’s hand.  “Porrim made them the exact same cut and size and style.  It’s just that your turtleneck is black—”

            “And yours is gaudy as shit,” said Karkat with a nod.  “Anyway I thought of doing that and going up to Porrim and saying ‘hey I just realized that you’re totally into me, wanna fuck?’”  Kankri grabbed him by the lapels and shoved him back into the room, slamming Karkat against the far wall.  He was torn between biting down on his own tongue and letting loose the steaming pile of vitriol building up in his stomach.  He did neither, and he felt an awful pain in his throat.

            “Oh please, she’s practically family, how gross would that be?” Karkat rolled his eyes.  “You need to let that shit out once in a while,” he noted.  “If you don’t vent your problems, you’re going to snap one day.  It’ll be epic.  There’ll be religious movements founded on the day you crack.  No, what I am going to do,” Karkat reached into his pocket and gave him a business card, “is invite you to the premiere.”  He patted Kankri on the back and left.  “We won.”

            The card had an address and the name of a theater, and it said, for some reason, “the Lord English’s Men.”

            Kankri felt numb.  He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened.  He sat in his chair until the stars started to wink on.  He crept out of his chair and slipped out the window onto the roof again. He stumbled as he clambered onto the peak.  “I’ve never stumbled all my life,” he mused.  The stars loomed about like judging eyes.  Words came to his lips, entirely unbidden;

 

KANKRI

I am reaching, but I fall,

And the stars are black, and cold,

As I stare into the void,

Of a world that cannot hold.

I’LL ESCAPE NOW FROM THAT WORLD!

FROM THE WORLD OF—

 

            “WHY THE _FUCK_ DO YOU GO UP THERE!?” Karkat shouted from the backyard.  “SERIOUSLY, YOU’RE GOING TO FALL!”  Kankri stumbled, and he fell, rolling down the roof and into the swimming pool.

            “JESUS CHRIST KANKRI,” Karkat shouted, running towards him.  He pulled his brother out of the water.  “Shit, are you okay?  Are you hurt?  Fuck, I’m gonna call an ambulance—”

            “SHUT UP FUCKASS,” Kankri shouted in his ear.

            “Fuckass?  Really?  What even is—” Kankri hooked his arms under Karkat’s shoulder and dropped back into the pool, dragging him down with him.

 

            Needless to say, the cast was jubilant about the new theater.  It managed to be both cozy and grand, like some Renaissance palace just as Jake had implied.  The seats were lined with red velvet and a crystal chandelier as big as Dave was hung from the ceiling.  The projector room had been converted into a private box.  None of them could find the door leading up to it. 

            Upon first entering, Gamzee sprayed a two liter bottle of orange Faygo on Dave (which he tolerated), Nepeta rode Equius around the theater like a horse, trying to make him charge people, and the Maryams hugged and squealed, a very un-Maryam act, and sang a little ditty, twin voices filling the air with jubliation;

 

KANAYA & PORRIM

A-shir-ra la-do-nai ki ga-oh ga-ah!  
A-shir-ra la-do-nai ki ga-oh ga-ah!  
Mi-cha-mo-cha ba-elim adonai!  
Mi-ka-mo-cha ne-dar-ba-ko-desh!  
Na-chi-tah v'-chas-d'-cha am zu ga-al-ta!

Na-chi-tah v'-chas-d'-cha am zu ga-al-ta!  
A-shi-ra, a-shi-ra, A-shi-ra….

 

            It made Dave think.  _The Prince of Egypt_ would be a fine production to direct.  If he could get the damn rights….

            “This,” said Sollux, rubbing his chin, “is an even bigger piece of shit than the school auditorium.  There’s no way I can get this shit running by next Saturday.  You’ll have to push it back again.”

            Dave handed him a check.  “This is your budget.”

            “I have a budget!?”

 

            Rehearsals went swimmingly.  Eridan, having been misled since the very beginning, took his character in a very different direction from what was considered ‘canon,’ playing him as a roguish Han Solo-type, but it was so well done that they had to leave it in, though Gamzee insisted that his legs be hidden at all times to give the illusion of shortness.  “The song is called ‘Little People’,” he said.  “HOW ELSE IS A TALL FUCKER LIKE YOU GONNA SING IT?!”  Eridan shrank back and did as he asked.

            With the money, Sollux and Mituna were able to produce an effects system that left the Industrial Light & Magic people begging for the twins to come work for them.

            After much coercing, Kanaya allowed John and Vriska to continue dating, so long as she supervised.  “I hope you’re aware that she was drugging you with a mild neurotoxin,” she said, glaring.

            “Of course,” said John.  “I’m not stupid.  She promised she’d never do it again!”

            “Yeah Kanaya,” Vriska said, flipping her hair.  “Don’t you trust my word?”

            “No,” she said flatly.  Then she grabbed Vriska’s head and scrubbed her mouth vigorously with a moist towelette.

 

            During the week, Feferi and her girlfriends, who had taken to calling themselves ‘Strider’s Angels’, patrolled the streets, handing out flyers.  Meenah climbed onto the hood of a car and shouted into a megaphone, “Come and see the show so violent…”

            “So sexy!” said Aranea, striking a pose next to her; the story-arc dealing with Aranea’s coming to terms with her sensuality having been cut for time,

            “And so edgy,” Feferi shouted exuberantly, “That they banned it from our school!”

 

            “So here’s the deal,” said Karkat, “he won’t speak unless spoken to and he’ll just mind his business and not judge anyone or anything.  He’ll just read his lines. He’s basically a spare me.”

            “FUCK OFF ASSHOLE,” said Kankri.  “AS IF THEY NEEDED ANOTHER ONE OF YOU.”

            “Well technically yes,” said Dave, “every member of the cast had an understudy except Karkat—”

            “Because I’m so good they can’t replace me,” he said with a stiff nod.

            “Shut up,” said Dave.  “But we can’t just let you join unless _do it now_!”

            “HUH?” Kankri muttered, just as the rest of the troupe leapt out from among the seats and sprayed him with cherry Faygo for a full ten minutes.

            “I suppose I deserved that,” he said, as Porrim wrapped a towel around him.

            “Yes,” she agreed, “now let’s get you cleaned up, Enjolras 2.”

 

            The day before the play was set to premiere, the mayor’s banner arrived.  “WHAT THE FUCK!?” said Dave, at long last losing his cool.  The damned thing was the length of a school bus.  “FEFERI, IN WHAT UNIVERSE DOES THIS CONSTITUE A SMALL BANNER?”  A few minutes later, a clown with a plastic arm showed up and started juggling campaign buttons while whistling The Battle Hymn of the Republic.  Dave almost cried, but he was a real man, so he didn’t.

           

            The night of the premiere arrived.  The seats filled.  Dave peered out from behind the curtain, and was met with thunderous applause.  Up in the private box, he could see a pale hand giving him a thumbs-up.  It had a pinky ring with a grinning green skull.  He took a deep breath.  “Show time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if you thought we would actually see the show. That was clearly not the purpose of this exercise, but now if you read carefully, you know the proper way to write a fusion.  
> This is clearly a sequel hook. Once I build up my store of theater based humor, I’ll do another story set in this universe. So many unanswered questions; why does Jake want to keep his identity secret? The fuck’s wrong with Vriska? Can Dave sing? Are Porrim and Kankri gonna do it or what? What was the point of this? Who the fuck knows?  
> “Something Good”; I thought this song would just be so dark coming from Vriska considering her canon. I actually laughed out loud while writing this chapter, the first time something I made has made me do that. I love how this story went from harmless slapstick and wordplay to black as fuck. Originally, she was going to sing “If I Would Ever Leave You,” (in which the singer explains why they wouldn’t leave their lover in any season) and John would freak out because they haven’t known each other that long. Maybe next time.  
> Shit my first longish fic that I’ve finished. I feel accomplished! I feel validated! Validate me further in the comments, loves. And if this is your first story of mine you’ve read, go read the others.


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